


sunshine in skies that do not belong to us (painting stories in clouds that are just as temporary)

by ell (amywaited)



Category: Marvel
Genre: Britney Spears - Freeform, Cute, Fluff, Getting Together, Indulgent, Karaoke, M/M, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 14:43:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18033653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amywaited/pseuds/ell
Summary: clint is drowning in neon lights and rainbow glitter and bucky has never seen anything more beautiful.





	sunshine in skies that do not belong to us (painting stories in clouds that are just as temporary)

**Author's Note:**

> cw: vomit mention, alcohol, clint is Tipsy

Bucky isn’t exactly sure what he was expecting the first time he saw Clint perform karaoke, given that it wasn’t the kind of situation he ever expected to be in, but whatever he was expecting was not anything like what he was watching occur right now. Which isn’t to say he’s not enjoying whatever is happening in front of him, because it opens up hundreds of opportunities for blackmail. The only downside is Clint appears to be the kind of person who doesn’t actually experience shame, which technically renders all of Bucky’s potential blackmail as null.

The current situation is Clint appears to enjoy prancing about on a stage, drowned in neon lighting and rainbow glitter pasted on his cheeks, sing-screaming the words to ‘Baby, One More Time’ (which is a song that, if Bucky could go his whole entire life without hearing again, he would probably be grateful).

However, Natasha would probably take great joy in castrating him, or something equally violent and painful, if he ever said that out loud. Because apparently the modern world has something of an obsession with Britney Spears, one that Bucky doesn’t quite understand. He’s scared enough of Natasha to just nod and go along with it, which is why he’s stuck listening to Clint ruin her songs for him.

The lights flicker from red to blue to pink. Bucky can feel the bassline in his chest, because apparently this particular club doesn’t know quite how to balance music, and it feels somewhat like it’s pumping his heart for him. Natasha’s pointy heels press indents into his ankles when he moves to stand up.

“Where are you going?” she asks, shouting almost directly into his ear.

“Bathroom,” he replies, and she lets her barricade of blood red high heels up for him to pass. Her lips blow a kiss at him and Bucky feels more than sees her telling him to be careful, because you never know what might happen.

Club bathrooms never were and never are objectively good, and the walk to them isn’t much better, really. Bucky avoids stepping in vomit for the most part, but some of the other patrons aren’t so lucky. His brain scrunches up in a vague approximation of sympathy when he sees one girl trailing vomit around the bar.

It kind of starts to get colder as he walks down whatever murder hallway the owners have decided to put their bathrooms, but Bucky isn’t particularly bothered by that. It’s still just as crowded as the dancefloor, and he tries to avoid brushing his hands on any bare skin, but short of melting into the wall, it’s impossible.

He only gets two odd looks, though, which was kind of to be expected given he’s looking like some kind of a wallflower hugging the brick and probably looking appropriately terrified.

The light is buzzing when he gets to the bathrooms, and it smells the way every club bathroom smells (sweaty, like cheap beer, and more bodily fluids than Bucky wants to even think of). There’s no empty stalls left, but there is an open window at the end of the corridor, and after a few seconds of considering, Bucky decides he can probably fit through it.

So that’s where he goes instead of the bathroom. He has about five minutes before Natasha gets worried, and ten before she goes looking, so he squeezes himself out of the window (thoroughly ignoring any and all of stares he receives. Something about a man heaving himself out of a window would be a cause of concern for sober people, but it’s the early hours of the morning in one of the sketchiest bars Natasha could find, so no one actually pays him much mind).

The window leads the the alleyway outside, and after three seconds of glancing around, he spots a brick sticking out of the wall and decides to pull himself up onto the roof.

Thankfully, it’s a flat one, and only one story, so he flops onto his back and sighs into the stars.

There aren’t many stars out, really. The sky is too full of pollution and the air is too full of noise. He can still hear the thumping of the music below him, and then the wild, drunken, cheers as Clint’s song comes to an end.

That probably means Clint’ll come looking for him soon, which Bucky wouldn’t exactly complain about ever, so he sighs again and resigns himself to waiting for him.

* * *

 

Clint does indeed turn up, grinning wildly, with some bright green kiss on his cheek, mixing in with some of his glitter. Sweat drips down from his brow, tracing a path down his nose. “Where’ve you  _ been _ ?!”

Bucky sits up. “I’ve been up here. Where have  _ you  _ been?”

“I’ve been dancing the night away,” Clint declares, “because I’m not a saddo with no life. Unlike some people I know.”

“Subtle,” Bucky says. “You’re probably really drunk, right?”

Clint grins again. “Probably. Natasha said you went to the bathroom. This isn’t a bathroom.”

Bucky hums. “How’d you know I was up here, then?”

“You left the window open,” Clint says, “and I might be drunk but I’m not stupid.”

“I never said you were,” Bucky says. He pats the roof next to him. “Come here. You must be freezing. How’d you lose your shirt anyway?”

Clint shrugs, moving over to sit next to him. “I guess I got caught up in the moment. Did you see my song?”

“I saw most of it.”

“I should do you a dramatic rendition right now! You need to see the ending, it was so good.”

Bucky makes a face. “How about another time?”

“We won’t get another time,” Clint says, pouting, but it only lasts for a second before he’s giggling again. “You should stop staring at me.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Should I?”

“Yeah, you’re totally objectifying me,” Clint says, “I’m not just a piece of meat, you know. Just because I have really hot muscles doesn’t mean I’m not a person.”

“Your muscles have nothing on my muscles,” Bucky tells him.

“Your muscles all came from a bottle,” Clint sniffs. “But that’s okay. I still love them.”

Bucky tries really hard not to blush. “I’m glad. You know you’ve got a little something on your face, right?”

“That’s my glitter,” Clint says matter of factly.

“No,” Bucky says, reaching out a hand to brush over Clint’s cheek, his thumb smearing green lipstick down it. “You’ve got green lipstick on your face.”

“Oh! That was from the mermaid. She said her kiss would give me good luck,” Clint explains. Then he winks at Bucky. “I think it’s working.”

“Oh, stop, you,” Bucky says, doing his best to wipe the lipstick off of Clint’s face. Clint’s face is warm, and slightly prickly from all the glitter, but Bucky doesn’t move his hands. Even though he probably should.

“What are you doing?” Clint asks, whispers, breathing hot air over Bucky’s face.

“I don’t know,” Bucky whispers back, and his words are stolen away by the night. Everything feels quieter, heavier, in the dark, and the sun is only just rising, making Clint’s glitter sparkle. His face feels like it belongs in Bucky’s hands, which is weird and like nothing he’s ever felt before.

He can feel the stickiness of the green lipstick on his thumb, but it doesn’t matter, and some of the glitter is sticking to his fingertips too, which doesn’t matter either. Clint’s eyes are much bluer than Bucky ever noticed.

“Bucky…”

“Is this okay?” Bucky asks, feeling for all the world like he’s whispering secrets that no one should ever hear.

“More than,” Clint says. “Always.”

Bucky just hums, and then he’s pressing their lips together and tasting Clint’s sweat and the almost spiky flecks of glitter and it’s reflecting off of the sun and into his eyes and it’s kind of a lot better than anything else he’s ever done before.

Which doesn’t say a lot, really, because Clint is better than anything he’s ever met before, and he seems to have reset all of his expectations and… and Bucky doesn’t hate it as much as he thought he would. Which is kind of not what he expected, but when has Clint been anything but unpredictable, and when has Bucky done anything but love it.

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday to my LOVE, eri. she is nonbaby now. if ur reading this i love u
> 
> i hope u enjoyed! pleeeeease let me know what you think! 
> 
> ill see u next time. love u always <3


End file.
